


Skin 2.0

by YvonneSilver



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s01e06 Skin, Gen, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-08
Updated: 2013-11-08
Packaged: 2017-12-31 20:54:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1036275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YvonneSilver/pseuds/YvonneSilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a psychotic serial torturer captures a new victim, would he really just leave him tied up in his lair? This is what I thought would happen in the episode Skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skin 2.0

Slowly, Sam drifted back to consciousness. His head throbbed, and it took him a moment to get his bearings. Then his memory came back to him. The skinchanger, Dean, the ambush. He snapped fully awake, choking as the rope around his neck pulled tight. He struggled, feeling his hands tied tightly behind his back, and ropes around his ankles and his neck. Panic began to well up inside him. ‘Don’t panic,’ he reminded himself, taking a deep breath. ‘Everything’s fine as long as you’re breathing.’ He wondered why he was still breathing. The skinchanger could’ve killed him easily, yet here he was. Why? That wasn’t a question he could answer just now. But where?  
He surveyed the room. It wasn’t as much a room as a large, damp cavern. The hideout was probably somewhere in the sewers underneath the city, as he and his brother had thought. A single light filled the hall with shadows. There were several scaffolds like the one he was probably tied to. To his right was a large wooden picnic table littered with various odds and ends, but the space around him was clean: nothing he could use to free himself with. He felt around behind him for a sharp edge, or an end of rope to untangle, when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye.  
Dean wandered into his field of view, carrying an length of rope. ‘Dean?’ Sam’s heart leapt. ‘Probably not.’ He thought. Dean approached him slowly, a look of worry on his face. Sam stared up at him, trying to see through the mask the skinchanger was wearing. Suddenly Dean slapped him, hard.  
“Ah!” Sam breathed in sharply. His cheek burned where he’d been hit. Slowly, he raised his head and looked up. “Where’s is he?” He spat. “Where’s Dean?”  
“I wouldn’t worry about your brother right now,” Dean answered, sauntering away. “I’d worry about you.” Sam twisted around, trying to see what the shapeshifter was doing. “You see, I usually prefer a female target. Normally, I would’ve killed you quickly.” It was surreal to hear Dean’s voice say something like that. Dean wandered back into view, carrying a large green bag over one shoulder. He gestured at Sam with the knife he held in his hand. “But you… you intrigue me.” He stuck the knife in his belt and sauntered over to the picnic table. “I swear, the more I learn about you and your family… Oh, I’m going to have some fun with you.”  
Sam ignored the fluttering of fear that last sentence evoked. “What do you mean learn?”  
Dean pressed his fingers against his forehead, closed his eyes and concentrated. When he was done, he turned to Sam. “He sure got issues with you.” He grinned, but the smile never reached his eyes. Sam shifted uncomfortably, pulling at the ropes. He had only ever seen Dean look at the things they hunted that way. When he spoke, there was an unfamiliar sound of loathing in his voice. “You got to go to college. He had to stay home.” He got up and walked over to Sam. “I mean, I had to stay home. With dad. You don’t think I had dreams of my own? But dad needed me. Where the hell were you?”  
Sam knew it wasn’t his brother talking, but the look of disappointment and betrayal on Dean’s face hurt him more than he dared admit. He had to keep reminding himself that it wasn’t actually Dean speaking. “Where is my brother?” He hissed.  
Dean leaned in close to Sam. “I’m your brother.” Sam had to look away, but Dean kept talking. “See, deep down, I’m just jealous. You got friends, you could have a life. Me, I know I’m a freak. And sooner or later everybody’s going to leave me.”  
Sam looked up and saw the hurt on Dean’s face. “What are you talking about?”  
“You left. Hell, I did everything dad asked me to and he ditched me too. No explanation, no nothing. Just… gone. Left me with you.”   
Sam had never heard such contempt in Dean’s voice before. ‘That’s not what Dean thinks.’ He thought to himself. ‘This thing is lying.’ He swallowed and made himself look at Dean. “You’re not my brother.”  
Dean laughed. “Oh, but I am. I’ll make you see that.” He straightened up and gathered up the plastic sheet at his feet. “First, I have some unfinished business to attend to. But I’ll be back.” He draped the tarp over a glowering Sam, who had no choice but to listen to his footsteps retreat.

 

Sam didn’t know how much time had passed when he heard scuffling noises again. His hands had long since gone numb trying to untie himself. The skinchanger obviously knew his way around ropes. He wasn’t going to get out of here without help, and now something was coming. He held his breath and listened to the footsteps approaching.   
“Sam? Sam!”   
Relief flooded through him when he heard Dean’s voice. He struggled against his bonds under the plastic sheet. “Dean!” He hissed back. “Over here.” Suddenly the rope around his neck pulled tight. “Dean!” He breathed. “Dean, you’re standing on the… I can’t...” He struggled for breath. “Dean!”   
“Oh, sorry.”   
The pressure around his neck lessened and he was able to breathe again. He heaved a sigh as the sheet was lifted and he could look up at his brother. “Dean! Man, is it good to see you.”  
“Oh Sammy, how’d you get yourself into this mess?”   
“Yeah, yeah, save it for later. Get me out of here.”   
Dean grunted and kneeled down beside him. “That’s what I’m here for right, to save your sorry ass.”  
Sam huffed, but he knew his brother had just been worried. He winced as Dean twisted the ropes around his wrists.  
Dean grunted again. “I don’t like this skinchanger, but the bastard knows how to tie his knots.”  
Sam squirmed as Dean pulled at the ropes, digging them deeper into Sam’s wrists.  
“I thought you knew how to untie knots.”  
“I thought you know who your brother was.” Dean said sullenly.  
“That’s not… Agh!”   
“Sorry.” Dean’s attempts at loosening the ropes seemed to only twist them tighter. “You know, I never got into this kind of trouble when I was hunting with dad.”  
Sam snorted. “Yeah, cause he was always a role model of safe hunting.”  
“He’s a better man than you’ll ever be and you should show him some respect.” Dean answered angrily, working at the ropes.  
Sam took a deep breath to calm his rising frustration. “Dean, can we please have this discussion when I’m not tied to a pole?”  
But Dean wouldn’t let it drop. “Well, you wouldn’t let yourself get caught in the first place if you’d learned something from dad. You always were a lousy hunter.”  
Sam felt his anger rising. “Yeah? So why’d you come get me in the first place?”  
“You know what, I don’t even know any more.”  
Sam would’ve punched him if his hands hadn’t still been tied to the post. “Seriously, just get me loose already.” Dean grunted something noncommittal and Sam rolled his eyes. That’s when he spotted the dagger on the table. “Dean! Dean, stop! You’re only pulling them tighter. There’s a dagger on the table over there.” He nodded in the general direction. “Cut me loose.”  
Dean looked to where he was pointing. “Oh, you want me to use the knife?”  
Sam looked up at Dean. Had he just heard something in his voice? “Dean?” He watched him get up, walk slowly to the table and gingerly, almost lovingly, pick up the dagger. When Dean turned to face him, he was grinning menacingly and there was something in his eyes that Sam had never seen in his brother before. Sam struggled to sit up straighter and forced himself to look into those hate-filled eyes. “You’re not my brother.” He told it coldly.  
For a split second, Dean looked hurt. Then his face contorted with rage. “Don’t you talk to me like that.” He growled threateningly.  
Sam looked up at him defiantly, gathering his courage as Dean advanced on him. “You are not my brother.” He repeated.  
“SHUT UP!” Dean roared as he thrust the knife forward.  
Sam had prepared himself, but still a scream was wrenched from his lips as the dagger sank into his shoulders. He clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut, concentrating on his ragged breathing; he was not going to give this creature the pleasure of his screams. He heard Dean’s soft voice somewhere nearby.   
“Oh Sammy, now look what you made me do.”  
Sam took a deep breath to stabilise himself and opened his eyes. Dean’s face was right in front of him. There was a softness in his face that almost had Sam believing that he was really sorry. ‘This isn’t Dean’, he reminded himself. “You don’t get to call me that.” He hissed.  
Dean sighed, almost apologetic as he grabbed the dagger handle still protruding from Sam’s shoulder. Sam closed his eyes again. Dean’s next words came to him through a haze of pain as he fought to contain his screams.   
“Sammy. You shouldn’t say things like that.” Dean purred, slowly twisting the dagger. “I’m hurt.”  
A smothered grunt escaped Sam at that.  
Satisfied, Dean gave the knife one last, cruel twist before yanking it out. Sam slumped forward in his ropes. He could taste salt, and he cursed himself for crying. Dean sauntered back to the table as Sam watched, blinking the blurred world back into focus. He leant back against the table, wiping the blood - ‘my blood’ Sam thought, - from the blade. “Well, I do enjoy our little talks, but I have… other business to get done.” Dean dropped the knife on the table.  
“Wh…” Sam swallowed to get his normal voice back. “What are you going to do?” Dean didn’t answer, but his malevolent grin told him it wouldn’t be much good. Sam narrowed his eyes. “I’m going to kill you.”  
Dean grinned. “I’d like to see you try.” He said as he swung the green sheet back over Sam.  
From somewhere above the rustling plastic Dean’s voice floated down to Sam. “See you soon little brother.”  
“You’re not my brother!” Sam shouted. “AH!” Under the tarp he hadn’t seen the elbow jab coming. The stabbing pain shot from his temple into his head and the world faded into darkness.

 

“Sam? Sam!” Sam struggled into consciousness at the sound of Dean’s voice. His head felt like it was splitting open. He fought to remain conscious as the stinging pain filling his head subsided to a dull throbbing in his right temple. “Over here!” He wriggled, trying to get the plastic off himself. With a loud crunching sound the tarp was pulled aside, revealing a worried-looking Dean kneeling beside him. Sam let out a sigh of relief. “Dean?!”   
Deans face broke into a grin. “Yep!” But it wasn’t Dean’s grin. It was a wicked grin, filled with a menacing pleasure.   
Sam looked at him with disgust. “You’re not my brother.” Wordlessly, hardly even changing his expression, Dean reached up and pressed his thumb into the fresh wound on Sam’s shoulder. Sam squirmed as burning tendrils snaked their way through his shoulder. He clenched his teeth, trying not to scream.   
Satisfied, Dean released the pressure and sauntered over to the table. Sam sat up as best as his bonds would allow, trying to ignore the afterecho of pain throbbing in his shoulder. Questions flitted through his mind. How long had he been unconscious? Why was Dean, no, the skinchanger, back? “Why are you doing this?” He spat at Dean’s back.   
Dean turned around, looking surprised. “Why, because I enjoy doing this of course. You know that Sammy.” Sam didn’t answer, but the look he gave Dean was filled with hatred. Dean ignored him and continued talking as he rummaged through the mess on the table. “I’ve always liked killing things. Why do you think I’m a much better hunter than you? You were always too soft for this work anyway. Working with you again has made that clear to me.” He turned back to Sam, holding the carved dagger in his hands. Sam shifted uncomfortably, but there was nowhere to move to. His eyes followed the dagger as Dean gestured with it. “The hunting, now that’s only an excuse. A great job for a natural killer like me. Just like this situation we have now.” He gestured around at the room. “This, this just gives me the opportunity to do what I’ve wanted to do since you abandoned me with dad.”   
Sam’s eyes flicked up from the dagger to Deans face. “You’re not my brother.”   
Slowly, dangerously slow, Dean crouched down in front of Sam, bringing their faces to the same level. “Well now, that’s no way to talk to your family. But then you never did respect us as you should.” He leveled the dagger at Sams adamsapple. Sam pressed himself back against the metal, but there was no way to get away. “Time to teach you some manners.” Sam took a deep breath and braced himself.

\---------  
He smiled softly to himself as he surveyed the figure slumped between the ropes. He really hadn’t expected to get such satisfaction out of him. But this new game he was playing, it was better than he’d ever thought. He had always enjoyed violence just to watch the effect of pain. Then he’d discovered how shifting could add an extra layer of pain in his victims eyes. But this, using his skills to coax an extra submission out of his victim, added a tension that was unexpectedly intense. Oh, and the sense of power when Sam had finally broken and screamed: “Dean, please.” He grinned to himself. Yes, he was going to enjoy himself with this one.  
\----------

Sam snapped into consciousness as the rope around his neck tightened. Had he dozed off? He shook his head, trying to clear it. He couldn’t let his guard down like that. But the pain and the bloodloss, coupled with the long anxious waiting, were getting to him. He sat up to slacken the rope and take a breath. But the rope only pulled tighter. Sam gasped for breath as panic began to settle in. He couldn’t breathe. He struggled unsuccessfully against his bonds, silently panicking. The ropes dug into his wrists but all his attention was on the rope around his neck and the wheezing sound his breath was making as he fought to draw it in. His lungs were starting to burn and he began to feel lightheaded. ‘I’m going to die,’ he thought. He couldn’t die, not here, alone, buried in the cities sewers.  
Suddenly the tarp covering him was lifted. Dean was there and they locked eyes. “Morning little brother.” he grinned.   
Sam gurgled, fighting hopelessly for breath. His lungs were on fire. Blackness was creeping into the edge of his vision and he was fighting just to stay conscious. He looked up into Dean’s eyes, silently begging, pleading.  
“Oh.” Dean feigned surprise. Then he let go of the rope, allowing Sam to breathe. Sam slumped forward, gratefully sucking air into his burning lungs.  
As Sam regained his breath, Dean put down the plate he was holding and began to rummage around the mess on the table, whistling to himself. Sam was surprised; he hardly ever heard Dean whistle. ‘It’s good to see him happy,’ he thought groggily. Then he remembered this wasn’t actually his brother. He’d called him Dean, he recalled. In one weak moment, blinded by pain, in a desperate attempt to stop the knife from coming again, he’d forgotten himself. As he looked down at his blood-soaked shirt he vowed not to let that thing get to him again.  
Sam hadn’t seen what was on the plate the shapeshifter had carried in, but with his breath returning he could smell it; the fatty smell of eggs and bacon. His stomach protested. How long had he been down here? It had said ‘good morning’. Had he really been here all night? There was no telling in this dim sewer.  
The shifter had finally dug up a fork between the odds and ends on the table and he sat down to eat. Sam bit his lip and tried to ignore his rumbling stomach as he watched it happily wolf down his breakfast.   
Sam couldn’t help but notice how he threw himself at his food with the same reckless abandon as his brother did. “You’re in a good mood today.” He wondered aloud.  
Fake Dean stopped for a moment to consider this. “Yes. Yes I am. Hunting makes me happy. And I took care of a final… problem today.”  
His words brought a hollow feeling to Sam’s stomach that had nothing to do with hunger. “What do you mean?” He said carefully.  
“That’s between me and myself.” Dean answered cryptically.  
Sam’s worry deepened. He didn’t mean... “Where’s Dean?”  
“I’m Dean.” Dean grinned at the effect his words were sorting.  
Sam shook his head. “No, no. The other Dean, the real Dean.”  
Dean got up and sauntered towards Sam. “There is no other Dean.”  
“You’re lying!” Sam’s shout was a mixture of anger and despair. He searched those familiar green eyes for a sign, any tell. He had to be lying, he just had to.  
Dean brought his face inches from Sam’s, an ugly smile playing on his lips. “Face it Sam. I’m the only brother you have left.”  
It was more instinct than planning. In a quick, sudden jab, Sam brought his head forward. Dean fell backwards and Sam threw his head back, gasping. The rope around his neck burned and his head throbbed, but he couldn’t help but grin triumphantly as Dean scrabbled up off the ground, pinching his bleeding nose.  
“I’m going to make you pay for that.” He promised darkly, but Sam didn’t care. He had managed to hurt his tormenter, to damage him in turn, he… Slowly, Dean rubbed his broken nose. Slimy skin began to peel off, and when he removed his hand his nose was there, good as new. Sam closed his eyes for a moment. All the fight seemed to flow from him, leaving behind a hollow shell. He had the insane desire to laugh though he could feel tears stinging behind his eyes.  
Dean advanced on him, dagger in hand. “Well Sammy, it’s time you recognized your new brother.”

 

He weaved in and out of consciousness. Everything hurt. His head, his skin, his mouth. The hunger had faded to a dullness somewhere beneath the cuts, but his throat ached for water. He licked his cracked lips.   
“Sam! Sammy!” He felt hands pressing at his throat. ‘Yes, I’m still breathing.’ He thought sarcastically. He opened his eyes. The world stayed blurred, and unfocused, but he heard Dean´s voice above him.  
“You’re alive. Okay, good.” Dean straightened up and pulled something out of his pocket.  
Sam recognized the glint of steel and his eyes opened wide. Against anything he’d thought possible, his voice rasped back into action. “Not the knife, please Dean, not the knife!” He hardly recognized his own voice, and the words seemed to come from someone else.   
“Sammy, calm down, it’s over, I’m going to get you out of here.” As he approached him, knife loosely in hand, Sam pressed himself against the pole at his back, trying to back away as far as possible, his wide-open eyes fixed fearfully on the knife in Dean’s hand. Dean stood over his brother, a dark look in his eyes. Sorrow? Anger? Sam couldn’t tell.   
Dean brought the knife down and sawed through the thick rope that looped around Sam’s neck. As Sam furiously shook his head to rid himself of the rope, Dean kneeled down and cut free his right hand. Immediately, Sam made a fist and fist and punched his brother in the face.   
Dean dropped the knife and fell back, clutching at his nose. “Dude! What the hell!”   
Sam’s fingers were still numb, and he fumbled with the knife, but then he gripped it firmly and pointed it at his brother. “Stay back!” He said thickly.   
Dean got to his feet rubbed his nose. It wasn’t broken - Sam hadn’t been able to take a good swing in his position - but it was going to be swollen nonetheless. Dean took a step forward. ”Sam, seriously, what,”   
“Don’t come any closer!” Sam interrupted, waving the knife.   
Dean looked genuinely hurt. “Sam. I was worried sick. I spent ages searching the sewers for you. Then I finally find you, almost dead, and this is how you treat me? Why are you”  
“Because you’re not you!” Sam shouted at his brother in a broken voice. He took a deep breath, and rasped, a little quieter: “You might not be you.”  
“Jesus, Sammy, who else would I be?”  
“The changer.” Sam whispered. “He told me you were dead. He said he was you. He did… things.”  
Dean balled his fists. “I’m going to kill him.” He snarled. Despite himself, Sam smiled. That was so Dean. If only he could trust him…  
“But Sam, this is me, the real me. The knife you’re holding is silver. Skinchangers can’t handle silver.”  
Sam surveyed the dagger. “The blade is. The hilt isn’t.” He answered mistrustfully.  
Dean was starting to lose his patience. He stepped forward. “Fine, then cut me.”  
“Back off!” Sam squeaked, followed by a painful cough. “I’m not letting you overpower me again. Come near me and I’ll kill you.”  
Dean looked into Sams cold eyes and knew he meant it. “Seriously, Sam! I’m here rescuing you.”  
“Yes. And you’ve done so before.” Sam sighed. Dean looked taken aback, and Sam continued. “You came to me, cut me down, hauled me right to the archway over there. I thought it was over, it was finally over. And then you turned to me, and do you know what you said?” Sam’s hand was shaking as he waved the dagger accusingly at Dean. “You told I was an idiot for believing in you, and I deserved every bit of this.” Sam drew a deep, shuddering breath. “And then you knocked me out, and dragged me back here. I thought my brother had come for me, but I was back in this hell. So until I know who you are, you’re staying away.”   
“That wasn’t me!” Dean began to protest, but then he saw the pained resolution in his brother’s eyes, and after a moment of silent contact, he nodded and stepped back, though he didn’t look at all happy to do so. Sam set to cutting free his other hand, looking back over his shoulder at Dean every so often. He wriggled the fingers of his left hand and bent his wrists, appreciating the feeling of freedom. When he bent forward to cut his feet free; a spell of dizziness hit him as the blood rushed up to his head. When he grunted as he quickly sat back up to relieve the dizziness, Dean stepped forward to help, but Sam immediately pointed the dagger at him and he backed away, hands raised. “C’mon man. You’ve got to let me do something.”   
Sam hesitated another moment. “Water,” he croaked, and Dean nodded. He carefully made a big arc around his brother and headed for the table. Sam bent down a second time, slower this time, and began sawing through the rope. When he sat up again, Dean was standing over him, offering him a water bottle. Sam raised his dagger immediately. “You first.”   
“Aww c’mon, really?” Sam nodded firmly. Dean unscrewed the cap and took a swig. “There.” Sam snatched the bottle from him and gulped down half of it. As he finished the rest of it more slowly, Dean backed up again and sat down.  
Sam broke the uneasy silence. “How long have I been here?”   
“Almost two days.” Dean replied sullenly. “When I came back and the Impala was gone, I knew something had gone wrong. So, I did what we’d planned to do: searched the sewers. I went to city planning and figured out all the underground spaces that’d be big enough for someone to hole up in, and then I combed through them.”  
“And that’s how you found me?” Sam asked sceptically.  
“You’re lucky I did. Sammy, you look terrible.”  
“Yeah, well. I spent the last two days getting cut on.” Sam winced and pressed his free hand against his midriff. “Look, Dean, we have to find the other you.”   
“The other me?” Dean replied indignantly.   
Sam gave him the no-nonsense look. “The shapeshifter. I want him dead, Dean, you hear me. Dead.”  
Dean eyed his brother carefully. “Well, that’s all fine, but you’re in no fit state to walk, and you won’t let me help you. So how the hell are we going to get out of here?”   
“We’re not.” Sam said, resting his head against the frame behind him.  
“What?”  
“We’re staying put. The shapeshifter has to come back here sometime. When he does, we kill it. Then we get out of here.” Sam said resolutely.  
“What if he doesn’t come back?”  
Sam eyed him darkly, but gave no answer. He really didn’t want to think about that possibility.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and tips are very much appreciated!


End file.
